Wednesday, March 14, 2012

I Dreamed a Dream

A while back, like so long ago I cant remember. I read something about people who write based on dreams(probably on a forum or something). I remember there seemed to be a bit of a heated discussion on why it was a good idea/bad idea...I think. 

The thing is, I cant imagine writing from a dream. Dreams are too disjointed. They don't form a coherent story. If I wrote down a dream it would read something like, "My blanket is made out of kitten claws and lipstick" (why I dont keep my laptop in my bedroom).

But on Monday I had a dream, and I woke up right in the middle of it, and was like, what the hell was that. So I wrote it down (please forgive my crap-tastic first draft):

My stomach turned over, much like the bubbling water bellow. Twisting, turning, churning, the dark stream hit the wall and dropped straight down, disappearing. I knew the stream appeared on the other side, I knew it was deep enough for a person to stand in, without their feet touching the bottom, and I knew the current was fast enough that even strong swimmers didn’t dare it.

What I didn’t know, was if something was barring the way. Chances were there was a grate under the wall, or worse, something sharp. People didn’t leave without permission, people didn’t enter without being noted, or at least they wern’t supposed to.

More important however, water muffled screams, and blood would run with the current, out not in. And these people were not my job, even if they were trusting me to rescue them. For no good reason.

The job was simple, get in, get the information and get out again. The cell should have been empty, other people complected things. Getting out of the cell was easy, getting off the compound should have been easy. But once the lock was picked, I couldn't leave them behind..

The sharp sound of a twig snap, drew my attention deep into the surrounding woods. Something moved in the forest. A quiet mummer of distant voices. I glanced at the others, the two men, a woman and a girl that I freed from the cell. Although I wasn’t sure if any of those titles properly fit them. The girl couldn’t have been more than a few years younger than myself and one of the two men was only a few years older. They had heard the noise.

I sighed, reaching under my tunic and slipping a finger under the stiff laced linen corset to pulling out a climbing anchor, and tucked it into my boot, wishing I still had my dagger. Looking back at the group I motioned for them to stay down, and quiet, before slipping into the woods.

I could have just climbed the wall, perhaps I should’ve just climbed the wall. There was no way they could enter the stream quietly enough, but I had already gone this far, and the noise was probably just an animal. I wasn’t truly worried about being heard.

I didn’t have to go far into the woods before I heard the voices.
“Secure the area,” a man said, “form a perimeter.” his voice was gruff almost scraping.

I froze. They were somewhere to my right, close, but I couldn’t see them through the forest. I took a deep breath and moved so I was next to a wide tree.

“Out of eyesight.” a second voice said, his voice was softer, although no more gentle, cold and commanding.

“But Sir-” the first voice questioned.

“Out of eyesight.” the second voice said, cutting off the first. “Its my forest, I seriously doubt anything could really happen here” the first voice continued.

There was a long pause and then I heard movement. Footsteps moving off through the forest, not making any effort to be quiet.

I glanced out, seeing four men walk past the tree I hid behind, wearing dark grey tunics with telling dark blue sash’s. I shook my head, of course it would be the personal guard of the Marquis. I waited, as they passed, they seemed to be in front of, and to my sides, no one moved back. We couldn’t leave, but unless something changed, we wouldn’t be discovered either.

I took a deep breath, and turned to go, they hadn’t heard me approach, and now that they were leaving it seemed the best time to sneak away. I turned. I stopped.

Less than twenty paces, that I hadn’t heard be taken, stood a man. His back to me. He was dressed in layers of grey and black. Dark hair cropped short, revealing faint blue tattoos across his skin.

The hair on my arms stood up. I didn’t breath.

He turned towards me, and my pulse quickened, heart hammering in my chest. I felt the tree press into my back. His eyes met mine, and he smiled, taking a step forward. And--My alarm went off.

I embellished, and added a bit, to TRY to make it a bit more sensical (if nonsensical is a word, sensical is too dammit). I mean, the two things I remember with the most clarity was:

If they die in the water, no one will hear them scream. 

And the intense fear of that guy at the end. 

I spent most of Monday wondering what was going on. Who were those people, why were they in the prison, why was I in the prison, what had been my job, who was the owner of the compound, why could I move through the woods so I thought about it, I would ask myself what ifs? What if they were political prisioners? What if I was a spy, not for one side or the other, just selling information? What if the guy at the end was a member of an elite band of killers? What if he was a vampire? What if I was a vampire? What if I was a ghost? What if...what if...what if.

And I came to a conclusion, not about anything the dream was about, I have no clue about that. But what if asking what if to all of these bizarre questions is what makes someone a writer. 

Do you write from your dreams? 

What do you think is going on here? 


  1. Wow, what a great bit of writing here!

    Well, I can totally not relate because I NEVER dream. Seriously. Never. (Or as everyone reminds me, I just never remember them, but in either case, I can't write from them.)

    But I love playing 'what if' and since I can't play at night I daydream during the day :)

  2. I'm like Kelley. I rarely remember my dreams either. But anything that sparks creativity? Run with it!

  3. This is a fantastic bit of writing here although some of it, a bit scary. I think if your dreams are giving you an outlet for your writing, then go with it. Stephanie Meyer wrote all of Twilight from a dream and has made herself rich beyond the dreams of avarice. So go for it. Get rich. Make your dreams into your writing.

  4. I think if I used my dreams for writing, it would turn into some odd avant garde story where fish are coming out of ears. Yours seems useable though. That's great that you remember so much from it. Maybe escaping from the prison in the dream means that you want to get out of a certain situation and slough off the dead weight.

  5. In no way am I surprised that your dreams are quite interesting. “Its my forest, I seriously doubt anything could really happen here” - sounds a great first line. :)